Winners
by Paint Splat
Summary: Sometimes, the TARDIS thinks about kissing Clara. [Clara x TARDIS, femslash, series of drabbles, for HollowShadowWolf]


_a/n: *party poppers* HAPPY BIRTHDAY WOLFIE! I've only known you for a short amount of time but I've idolized you for a while now XD Your vids are amazing, we sail many tiny femslash ships together, you're a huge inspiration and you never fail to make me happy when we speak. I hope you have an amazing day and another wonderful year._

_So I wrote you some ClarDIS drabbles. Yay._

* * *

_Vworrrp_. _Vworrrrp_.

Another day done. Taking them to the ends of the universe and back again. It's not like she gets tired or anything, she's not built to function like that. It's just sometimes she wishes for feet and legs and hands again, to speak and to sigh. Or whatever wishes were for her. She didn't even know if she could have wishes. She wasn't programmed that way. She just thought about it sometimes. A spaceship has to have a hobby. Thinking was hers. Thinking about her idiots and her maybe-wishes.

Sometimes, she thought about kissing Clara. Not all the time though. Only sometimes. It was a fleeting thought now and again. She didn't even _like_ the girl.

It was just ...

Sometimes.

_Vworrrp_. _Vworrrrp_.

* * *

Sometime she wished she was human again. Sometimes she didn't - she hated the fragility of it all. You were born and then you died and then you were born again, like stars exploding and becoming something hated how temporary everything was.

It was always in passing she thought about these kind of things. Whether she wanted to be human or not. She never came to a proper conclusion.

_Vworrrp_. _Vworrrrp_.

_If she was human, she could hold Clara's hand, kiss her pretty fruit punch pink lips, push her against walls and _-

She only thought about these things sometimes. Because that was the real fragile thing - however much she thought about it, it just wouldn't happen. That's why she didn't let herself think about it.

Sometime, however, she indulged in these petty thoughts. That was partly what made her so human.

It wasn't as if she even liked Clara anyway. She was the newcomer, the intruder.

_Vworrrp_. _Vworrrrp_.

* * *

She liked it when her thief called her names, called her baby, sexy. Clara called her a cow.

(She knew though one day her thief would stop calling her names, grow older and more serious. It was coming soon, she could tell. So she held on to every baby and sexy she could and every one hurt a little more.)

Clara called her a cow. _Sometimes, she wished Clara would call her sexy _-

She didn't let her thoughts wander there anymore. Clara was important to her thief. She shouldn't be thinking things like this about a girl who called her a cow, shouldn't be wishing to be human again so she could grab her waist and kiss her lips.

_Vworrrp_. _Vworrrrp_.

She tried to stop thinking about it. Sometimes she couldn't help it though.

* * *

Clara's the girl who is important to her thief. She sacrificed everything for him, split herself in to billions of pieces.

_Vworrrp_. _Vworrrrp_.

Kissing is about winning and losing. When she thinks about kissing her thief she just feels wrong. Neither the winner nor the loser.

When she thinks about kissing Clara -

Except she doesn't. Shouldn't.

_Vworrrp_. _Vworrrrp_.

But if she did, she would think about whether she'd be the winner or the loser.

* * *

She'd like to lose. Let Clara have her way. Bite and scratch and kiss and hug.

* * *

She'd like to win. Let herself consume Clara, let their lips collide, hold her down, make her beg.

* * *

_Vworrrp_. _Vworrrrp_.

A lot of time has passed. At least, she thinks it has. She sometimes loses track. But her thief is older now, just like she predicted, and still filled with so much sadness. She hopes Clara still makes him happy. Clara makes everybody happy. Like a bright ray of sunshine, a shining star in the blackness of space.

She never calls her a cow anymore. She misses that, sometimes.

And she still sometimes thinks about kissing Clara. Not all the time though. Just in whimsical bursts of inspiration now and again. She thinks about how soft her lips would be, how smooth her hair would feel as she ran her fingers through it. Impossible dreams about the impossible girl.

A ship has to have a hobby after all. And thinking about Clara Oswald might just be the nicest hobby of them all.

_Vworrrp_. _Vworrrrp_.


End file.
